


Litost

by JessicaPendragon



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 07:45:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5120501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaPendragon/pseuds/JessicaPendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke and the Inquisitor discuss the poor life decisions of their significant others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Litost

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the best work buddy ever and featuring her OCs.

Music and conversation flow through the open door of the rotunda, but she can only hear promises not kept. The silk and lace of her gown brushes against her skin in gentle waves, but she can only feel the ghost of his caresses. Tonight the rest of the Inquisition celebrates their hard won victory with diplomats from the Free Marches, but there is only rage in her heart untempered by time.

It sinks and swells inside her like the waltz being played. In the months since Corypheus’ defeat, some days Solas is but a fleeting thought and others she can think of little else. There was confusion in the face of his absence at first, a disbelief that lingered for weeks. In the wake of his absence she has only found a burning anger.

Silent feet carry her through the outer door into the embrace of Skyhold and the mountains beyond. She doesn’t stop until the jubilant sounds of the gala disappear and leave only the heavy beating of her heart. 

“Not one for dancing?”

She jumps at the voice, quick hands finding the daggers hidden beneath layers of silk. The shadows move and a familiar form steps into the torchlight. “Hawke?”

The Champion of Kirkwall bows her head. “Inquisitor.”

Phyria puts away her weapons but eyes the newcomer with suspicion. “What are you doing here?”

“Unofficially, I am here to return to Kirkwall with Varric when the celebrations are done. Officially I am not here, of course. There’s a room full of people over there that would love to see me strung up in the gallows. I’m sure it would ruin your party if there were to find out I was in such easy reach.”

“I won’t tell anyone, it’s just…it’s good to see you. Varric said he lost touch with you after Weisshaupt.”

“A very cheery place, by the way. I don’t like to keep in contact with the rest of the world when I’m with Anders. It’s too dangerous.”

Phyria falls silent at the name. She wonders what it must be like willingly tied to such a person. If she can’t forgive Solas for this abandonment, she doubts she could for something so devastating as the spark that caused a war. 

“May I ask you a personal question?”

Hawke sighs. “I suppose you’ve earned it. Go ahead.”

“How could you forgive him?”

“Who says I have? Do you think I enjoy hiding, having to move all the time, turned away from places I called home? There were days when I…” Hawke shakes her head and leans into the wall. Her ever playful exterior slides away to something sincere. “I kept thinking, ‘How could he do this to us? To  _me_?’ It took some time for my anger to fade and realize the truth.”

“What?”

“He didn’t do it to me, to hurt me or spite me. It had nothing to do with me at all. At the end of the day, after everything, it does make a difference. Love doesn’t mean you’ll never be hurt, Inquisitor. It’s just a promise to protect one another, to try to do better.”

 _I never meant to hurt you._  Phyria shuts her eyes against the remembered words. 

The smirk returns to Hawke’s face. “Besides, I’ve killed hundreds of people for no good reason at all. I’m no one to judge. And maybe I’m not the best person to give advice on anything either.”

The great doors the main hall swing wide open, light, laughter and music pouring forth. Nobles, servants and members of the Inquisition pour down the steps and into the courtyard, move across to the steps leading to the ramparts. 

“Ah, that’s my cue. It was lovely catching up, but I’m afraid I must retire for the evening.” Hawke jumps atop the stone wall and grabs a rope tied to somewhere beyond sight.

“Hawke!” Phyria steps forward and the other rogue pauses. “Thank you.”

There’s a flash of white teeth in the darkness, a knowing gleam to bright, blue eyes. Hawke lifts her hand and salutes. “Good luck, Inquisitor,” she says before jumping into the void. 

Phyria remains on the battlements for a few minutes more. Cool air drifts across her exposed skin and she pictures it carrying away this tempest brewing inside. Maybe Hawke is right. Maybe all she needs is time to separate this pain inside, but all she truly wants is answers and there is nothing but silence.


End file.
